Breaking
by bleachaddic
Summary: While Peter's away on vacation, something happens to Neal that leaves him scarred in unimaginable ways, but what happened? Only Neal knows, and while increasingly sick, won't share. How can Peter save the ex-con that means so much to him?
1. Finding Neal

an: Oh, this is my first fanfic, seriously sorry if there are any mistakes! Somehow when I uploaded it, it changed a little. A couple words got deleted, but I think I got them all. Please don't be too harsh. Try to just enjoy it, and don't complain that Neal is seriously OOC. That's somewhat the point. Please enjoy it. Criticism, constructive and otherwise, very much welcomed.

* * *

Peter returned home from his week-long get-away in the Bahamas with his beautiful wife, Elizabeth. It had been exactly what they needed. They wasn't a single moment the whole week when they hadn't been laughing and smiling together, never once thinking about the stressful reality back home. They'd lived in the now and had a fantastic time, but now they were home and it was 8am the next morning. Normally, Peter would have been up sooner, but it was the day after vacation and you know what that's like.

Peter put on the usual suit, one he hadn't touched all week, preferring lighter more comfortable wear for the tropical climate. He gently nudged his wife awake. Tired she smiled up at him. "It's time to wake up," he said "I have to go check on Neal, make sure he hasn't done something that'll get himself back in jail yet."

And with that Peter walked out of the safe haven that was his home into a story of utter chaos and confusion that no one saw coming.

X.x.X._Hat.x.X.x.X

Peter sat in his car staring out the front window, dreading going back to work. Don't get it wrong, he loved what he did, chasing criminals, solving crimes, but after such a perfect week it was hard to go back. He sighed and grabbed his phone, turning it on to check all the messages he had missed.

two missed calls. Not bad. Of course he did tell everyone he would be away without his phone on, so it was to be expected. He checked the caller I.D. and found the first one to be from Jones. It went

"Peter Burke? Yeah it's Jones. Neal just came to the department, activated his tracker, looking completely out of it. He looked really scared, and wouldn't stop shaking. We're going to interrogate him now. I know your on vacation and probably won't get this anytime soon, but I thought I'd let you know, since Neal is yours. Let you know more later."

And it ended. Nothing. Peter could have been hit by an atomic bomb and he wouldn't have flinched. Neal was scared. No, Neal was terrified, and it petriefed Peter to think what it could be that could do so much damage to the world's number one white collar criminal. This isn't just some little prank, a little too much drinking, or a smack in the face, heck not even a car crash. Something seriously happened.

Peter looked at when the call was made. Only three days ago. Long enough that Neal would be better, but not long enough for him to be completely healed. At this point all Peter wanted to do was rush to the department or June's house or wherever the heck Neal was and help the poor man. With Kate gone, he had no one. He had to help him!

Though, Peter resisted the urge to just zoom off in some random direction remembering the promise Jones made to update him more later. Fearfully he began to play the second message which had been made only two days ago. Peter wondered what could have caused such a time difference but ignored it, rushing straight to the message itself.

"Agent Peter Burke?" It was the chief this time, not Jones, "Neal Caffery came in yesterday, I believe Jones already told you all about it so I won't bore you with all the details, but as soon as you get back from vacation please report to the department. We need your help to figure out what's happened to Caffery. Until then, he'll be staying under supervision at the department. Just remember, he's your responsibility."

Peter took off. When he put the keys in ignition, he doesn't even know. His foot just hit the pedal as soon as he heard Neal was at the department, and continued to press harder when he heard of the surveillance. Something must be seriously wrong for the chief to allow Caffery to be there for more than five minutes.

The drive to the department took only half the time it usually did. And when Peter got there, the sprint up the stairs took only a third of what it should. When he reached the door he practically broke through the glass in his dash.

"Where's Caffery?" He demanded. A few heads glanced his way, and a couple people pointed to a room in the back, one of the few that wasn't entirely built of glass. Peter approached it, took the handle, and turned it.

X.x.X._Suspense.x.X.x.X

Neal was huddled in the corner. His knees bent to his stomach and his arms wrapped around himself like he was trying to hold his fragile self together. He was visibly shaking with massive bags under his eyes as if he hadn't slept in days. His glossy eyes looked over to meet Peter's but instead of the much needed contact they stared right through.

"What happened?"

X.x.X._Crap_Now_I_Have_To_Think_Of_A_Back-Story.x.X.x.X

Peter kneeled in front of Neal. "You have to tell me what happened." He said desperately. "Please, I can help you, Neal. Don't you trust me? I know everything about you. I can help."

Neal chocked and looked as though he would cry. "I...She..."

"A women? Okay, continue." Peter urged.

"There was a... bar. She...was...kind. And...we just...you know. So I went and..." Tears were visibly streaming down his face. "The drink. It was... God, so stupid...I just...don't know...I did it and..."

"Neal" Peter looked straight into Neal's damp eyes. He reached out and held the ex-con's extremely clammy hands in his own. "You have to calm down. What ever happened it completely okay.

"No!" Snapped Neal suddenly, "You don't understand. You can't. It's just...I drank it and I...I couldn't function right! I wanted to fight it. I did! But the drug...it... I...I was too weak. I couldn't stop it. And...and now...how am I suppose to..."

Peter was at a lost. As soon as Neal got going he slowed down and started off on non-descriptive self loathing. Thankfully, the chief walked in at the moment.

"I see you're not getting much farther than we are." The chief said.

"Yeah."

"Though you might want to know," the chief added in his usual firm, emotionless voice, "he hasn't been eating or sleeping. He keeps asking for various drugs. All stimulants. We gave him a few Gatorades which he didn't drink. Hell, we were got desperate and even tried a couple pure sugar cubes. He inspected them very thoroughly, but I guess he didn't find what he wanted because he seemed very annoyed at it. At first it looked as though he would discard it with the Gatorades but finally he caved and began sucking on it."

Peter couldn't help but begin to panic even more. He crouch down in front of Neal again and leaned forward so their foreheads were touching. Damn, Neal was burning up. On a quick estimation Peter would have to say it was a fever of around 103 degrees.

"Peter..." Neal whispered as he fell into unconsciousness for the first time in days.


	2. Another New Home

an:Thank you so much to everyone who read, reviewed, and/or subscribed. It really means a lot to me. And a little hint for this chapter-don't be jumping to conclusions, there's still more to come.

**Actually semi-important note:** I realized after I started writing this that in the current timeline it would take place right after the first job, so let's cheat and say it takes place later like maybe more around after the first or second season, you know after Neal and Peter have had a little more time to bond and grow close. Anyway, enjoy.

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This sucks. This really fucking sucks._ Thought Peter. Not only was it the first day back after a long, peaceful vacation with his wife, Elizabeth, but now his partner, his _ex-con_ partner who always seemed to be one step ahead of the game, was basically breaking before his eyes. It doesn't get much worse.

The chief cleared his throat, finally ending the some-what awkward silence. "You realize," he said, "he can't stay here."

"Right..." Peter half-mumbled. _Oh god, I'm starting to sound like Neal. But I have to stay strong so I can help him. _"Jones, give me a hand to get Neal down to my car. He can stay at my house for awhile."

Jones quickly stepped forward. He reached forward to lift Neal under the legs, but hesitated slightly as though he was afraid he would break Neal even more. Though it really tore Peter's heart, beginning to feel even more helpless and desperate.

Finally, they were both in position and began to lift the weakened man. Meanwhile Peter couldn't help but notice how light he felt, like he really could just crumble any second. Jones began to lead the way down the stairs and Peter used the physical work and concentration to distract himself from what was lying so plainly and so pathetically in his very hands.

As hard as Peter may try, he couldn't stop his hard FBI-trained mind from attempting to put all the pieces of this seriously bizarre case together. _A drink. Something about it. Special. Poisoned? A woman. Drugs. Stimulants. Not sleeping. Not eating or drinking. Afraid? Trying to stay awake. Afraid of the dreams, the memories, or did something happen in his sleep that he doesn't want to happen again? Maybe it's the other way around. Not afraid of sleeping, but afraid of not being awake. Poison. Is time short? Is Neal about to d-_ Peter stopped mid-thought. No way would he ever allow himself to think like that. For all he knew he was no where near what actually happened. Better not to get set on false ideas and wait to hear more.

The decent down the stairs seemed to take an eternity. Whether it was from the mere thought of Neal's life being limited, or the fact that he had to spend the entire time with his dearest companion's weak and abused head cradled in his hands.

_Did I just call Neal my dearest companion? Damn, he's really getting to me._ Peter thought aimlessly, _Though I guess I have to admit it is true. He's definitely the smartest person I've ever worked with, and he's sense of humor can really grow on you._

Finally, the group made it down the stairwell and to Peter's car. Awkwardly and with a lot of fumbling around, they managed to get, the slightly disturbing, Neal into the back of the car. For a reason that could only have been divine intervention (Though Peter would never believe it,) he lifted the Neal's pant leg up a little bit. _Where's the tracker?_ Thinking he had maybe mixed up slightly and checked the wrong leg, Peter raised the other one.

"What are you doing?" Jones questioned.

Peter looked Jones square in the eyes, the atmosphere suddenly even more grave than before, which is seriously something considering how dire the situation already was.

"The trackers gone."

X.x.X.x.A_Hooray_For_Skipping_Important_Scenes_To_Cut_To_Mozzie.x.X.x.X

Neal always went missing as soon as Mozzie needs him. Of course Mozzie could always find him. He had his ways, but somehow hacking into security feeds to track down his best friend just didn't seem right, so he always ended up just waiting for his companion to wander home on his own.

When the antique clock on the wall struck 6:30PM, June walked into Neal's refurnished room where Mozzie was waiting. "It seems Neal still hasn't returned. Oh well, your welcome to stay for dinner in his place."

"That's fine, but I feel I've already overstayed my welcome." Mozzie referred to the exquisite lunch, and Italian-roasted coffee and lady fingers snack June had served earlier, as he stood to leave. "I'll just be on my way."

June smiled and played the ace up her sleeve, "Nonsense! I've already made that ravioli and clam sauce you love." It somewhat creeped Mozzie out that June had come to know not only Neal but himself so well. "Plus, it was part of Neal's payment to keep me company during meals whenever my granddaughter is busy studying or hanging with friends."

Finally Mozzie caved. "Fine, but only because I don't want Neal having to move in with me again because he couldn't pay rent." He shuddered inwardly at a few ...interesting memories.

Together they headed downstairs to the dinning room table which was already set with two wine glasses and bowls of ravioli. They sat down across from each other and began to eat between bits of casual small-talk. It was about five minutes into dinner when Mozzie's phone rang. June shot a slightly disapproving glance as he opened it to check the caller ID. He's face suddenly lit up. "It's Neal."

June no longer cared about how improper it was to answer a phone in the middle of a meal and instead urged Mozzie to put it on speaker.

"Mozzie? That you?" Neal's hoarse voice sounded from the other end.

"Yeah, and where the hell are you, man? I've been waiting for the three days. I think I found something good on Kate. It turns out the bottle-"

Neal suddenly cut Mozzie off, "Not now, Moz."

"What? It's Kate. Isn't that like the entire essence of your very existence?"

Neal audibly groaned, "Yeah, but just not now, okay. I'm staying at Peter's now, so I won't see you for awhile. Tell June for me too."

June signaled for Mozzie to hand her the phone. "Hello, Neal." She said in a very sly sort of way. "You know you still have to pay rent for the suits."

"Oh, hello June," Neal answered, "Don't worry I'll have the department send over the 700 like always."  
"You know that's not what I ment" Mozzie inwardly laughed at how June had become Neal's second mother, giving him chores and keeping him out of trouble. Mozzie couldn't help but wonder if she also reminded him to brush his teeth and tucked him in at night. At that he laughed out loud.

June glared at him and added, "It was bad enough when Byron left, I don't need the added stress of losing you."

"Thanks for your concern, but don't worry and I'm staying with the FBI. I know I've done some ridiculous things in my life, but I'm not so crazy as to break the law while literally holding hands with a cop."

"Fine, do as you wish."

"Thanks, June."

"Your welcome," June said and hung up. Mozzie took his phone back and stood to leave. Right before he left he looked longingly at the rest of his pasta. June only rolled her eyes and nodded. Mozzie took the bowl as he turned to leave.

Mozzie was out the door and making his way around the corner, all the while shoving clam ravioli in his mouth, when June came running out the door. He stopped to turn around, mid-chew. June approached him and held out her hand.

"He forgot his toothbrush."

X.x.X.x.'Cuz_Neal's_Eyes_Are_Like_The_Color_Of_Fresh_Picked_Bananas_If_Bananas_Were_Blue.x.X.x.X

Neal sat in the bathroom, trying desperately not to spill the few remaining contants of his stomach for what he thought was getting to be about the fifth time that night. Peter had made him eat, and as much as he had resisted he finally managed some down, only to have it come back up thirty minutes later. Elizabeth brought a whole slew of things to help him feel better, from Ginger Ale to Tylenol to chicken soup, none of which he could stomach for more than twenty minutes.

There was a sharp knocking at the door and Peter yelled in, "Open up, Neal. I have to take your temperature."

Neal moaned and shouted back, "Just a sec." He flushed the toilet, even though it was empty, and began to wash his ends with exceptionally cold water, most of which he splashed onto his feverish forehead. He dried his head and allowed Peter to enter what was beginning to feel like his little safe haven, the one spot in the house he could be where Peter wasn't constantly nagging him about eating, or pestering him to talk.

Peter stepping in and gave Neal a death-glare. "Okay," He said, "I know you just splashed freezing water on your head." Peter grabbed Neal's hand and began to usher him out of the bathroom. "C'mon," he said, "You need to get out."

Neal followed, much to his dismay, since he was too tired and weak to resist even though he'd slept since Peter brought him home yesterday till about noon. Since then Peter had checked his temperature about twenty times. Luckily it had gone down since Peter had first saw him, from a troubling 103 to only 101. The thing that troubled Neal the most was he knew it wouldn't go down any farther. He knew this wasn't just the flu or an extreme cold. He knew the only way to save himself, and there was no way he'd ever be able to do it.

_The feeling of her pushing me. Pushing me into her. She used me and manipulated me. I can't do it. Not again. Sorry, Kate. I ruined everything..._

Finally, Peter had pulled, in a non-pulling manner since Neal really wasn't giving any resistance, Neal downstairs into the the living room onto the couch. Elizabeth was in the dining room, hair wet and in her pajamas since she had just gotten out of the shower, and greeted the two when she saw them after which she quickly disappeared. Her and Peter had already discussed what Peter would be talking to Neal about and she didn't want to be there for it because she thought it might put too much pressure on Neal.

The clock struck 8:30, two hours after Neal had made the call to Mozzie and, inadvertently, June. Since then he hadn't been able to stop thinking off the 'incident'.

_I have to find that woman. But I can't. I can't. The feeling of being inside of her. It wasn't right. I should have know. The drink, no everything, was laced. Damn it. I'm sorry Kate._

Thankfully, as Neal was on the verge of another break-down, Peter began talking. "Neal, you have to trust me. You don't have to tell me everything, just something. Just tell me one little detail, we'll go from there. When was it? Wednesday?." Neal nodded. "And you showed up at the department on Thursday. What happened over night?"

Neal whispered, barely audibly, "It was night..."

Peter nodded in understanding and continued the interigation, "Okay, so you went straight to the department afterwards, right?" Another nod. "You didn't stop at June's or anything?" Neal shook his head no. "Why?"

"I didn't know where to go." Neal spoke the most words he had in since the 'incident'. "I was afraid. I thought that would be the best place to go."

Peter refrained himself from simply yelling out "Why!?" and instead ended the conversation with "Okay, that's enough for now."

A certain cloud of dark instability that had been looming over Neal since Peter had come to get him from the bathroom, suddenly disappeared for a brief moment and Peter couldn't help but feel better. Things would be okay. Through time Neal would tell him everything and he would fix it, just like he always did. He joined the FBI to help make sense of the confusing and make things right again, and that's just what this way. It was just another case. Someone had replaced Neal with a poor forgery and he would find who did it and put them in jail and then things would go back to normal. It would all be okay.

As Peter stood to leave and Elizabeth walked in, thermometer in hand. As much as Neal resented it, she took his temperature. While they waited for the reading Neal sat stubbornly glaring at the clock that ticked too slowly, just like a child.

"Thank you" Elizabeth said soothingly, like a mother.

Neal glanced at her like she was crazy. She only smiled and added, "I know you always give Peter a hard time with trying to get a good reading, so thanks for letting me just take this one." Neal looked away saying nothing. They sat there for the remainder of the time in an awkward silence. The thermometer finally beeped signaling it was done and Elizabeth pulled it out of Neal's ear to get the reading. In the blink of an eye, he had grabbed her arm stopping her from seeing the measurement. He looked her in the eye and said in all seriousness, "It's 101. You don't have to keep checking, it won't ever go down any farther." Neal took a deep breath and prepared himself to confess to Elizabeth what happened. He had to tell someone and somehow he felt Elizabeth would understand. "That night... There was... a syringe and..." He's throat tightened and he struggled to continue.

Elizabeth put her hand on his top of his head and stroked his hair. "Neal, don't worry about it. Don't try to force yourself. When your truly ready it'll come by itself. Just try to get some rest and eat a little bit."

Elizabeth left and went to her own room where Peter was waiting. "He let me take the temperature, but then stopped me from reading it. He said it would never go below 101, and then he started talking about that night. He was saying something about a syringe, but I had to stop him because he looked like he was about to have an emotional breakdown."

"Hmmm," Peter began to sort this new information into the already mixed-up descriptions Neal was giving him. "Was there some sort of virus he was injected with? Is that why he's so sick? Why wouldn't he just go to the hospital then? Why is he making such a big deal out of this? What could cause him to act this-" Peter suddenly cut himself off.

"Kate."


	3. I'm Not Running

an: I'm so sorry this took so long to write, and it's not even as good as it should be. I could give you a thousand excuses, but that's not really what your here to read. Anyway, I know this chapter doesn't really answer any of your questions and Neal suddenly seems a lot better than he was before, but I swear I'll clear a lot of the confusion next time and Neal will be all emo-like again. In less, you like him better this way... Oh well, enjoy! (And thanks to all the people who faved, subscribed, and especially reviewed. You guys are awesome!)

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Ring, ring_

It was the next morning when Peter's phone rang, waking him and Elizabeth from a peaceful sleep. A sleep that allowed them to forget, at least for a little while, the chaos that was surrounding Neal. Last night they'd pieced together what little evidence Neal had given them so far and figured it must involve Kate. What else could cause such a strong physical and emotional reaction in the prison-toughened ex-con? Peter was sure of his theory and, as fearful as he was of how Neal would respond to confronting the issue face on so soon, he resolved to make it the days topic. Granted it was quite a massive stretch from finding the date, to basically solving the entire case, but, in Peter's mind, it was better to just fix the problem as soon as possible, so things could return to normal.

_Ring, ring_

Peter rolled off and grabbed the obnoxious device. For all they did, they sure as hell were annoying. Nonetheless, he checked the caller I.D. and found it to be the chief ((Who's name I've finally realized is Hughes, so as of now that's what I'll call him)). For a moment, he thought it was Neal running again. Neal ran so often, Peter had seriously considered throwing out his alarm clock, what was the need when you had an annoying cell phone going off every morning to report a convicted felon on the course, Neal didn't have his tracker on, so the alarm couldn't have gone off. Peter's new resolve for the day was too find out what happened to the device, a much more reasonable topic.

_Ring, ring_

_Oh, right, the phone_. Peter thought as he hit the green talk button. "Agent Burke." He said drowsily.

"It's director Hughes, I called to check in on you and Neal, and remind you these days off are coming from your sick days." Peter audibly groaned. He'd already taken a week off with Elizabeth and taking another week off not even a day after he'd returned was not good. So much time off right in a row had to be frowned upon, and with so many people already looking down on his partnership with Neal, making them question him even more probably isn't a very good thing to be doing in the current situation.

"Right. I should be able to come in tomorrow."

"Good, see you then" And with that the call ended. Peter sighed, laid the phone back on the bedstand, and rolled over to face Elizabeth.

"The department?" She asked.

"Yeah, they're counting this as sick days. I've got to go into tomorrow, but I don't know if Neal will be okay if I do."

"You don't trust him enough to not kill himself for one day?" Elizabeth said as she stood up and began to get dressed.

Peter followed suit and began to put on a fresh, white shirt. "That's the problem," he said, "I don't think that's Neal downstairs."

Finally, after the couple had finished dressing, they made their way down the stairs to find Neal sitting in the dinning room with his feet propped on the table. Something about this pose really lifted Peter's spirits. It was just so, well, Neal to be sitting idly with feet up and hat tipped slightly downwards.

Elizabeth made her way past the ex-felon into the kitchen to begin the morning coffee. As she stepped around the table she couldn't help but take note of the massive number of wrinkles and dirt covering Neal's clothes.

Meanwhile, Peter followed behind his wife and sat in the chair to the right of Neal. "Morning," he greeted only to be answered with a nonchalant moan. The FBI agent rolled his eyes, "Give a real greeting," he said.

Neal tilted his hat upwards to give a sharp glare. "Good morning, Peter," he stated like a rebellious teenager. In a way, he was beginning to become one with his mood constantly changing from sad and broken to distant and sharp almost menacing. Hell, the man was so young, he even looked the part. The thing that crushed Peter's spirits the most though was how Neal had seemed fine at first, casually sitting at the table in the way only he could do, but had turned out to be shielding a bad mood, snapping at Peter. He had begun to think he had stumbled onto the perfect time to dig deeper into the situation, but that had not been the case.

"Okay, Neal," Peter continued, "What's the plan going to be for today?"

"Can I go to Mozzie's?" Neal's eyes suddenly sparkled in hopefullness. Damn, his moods really are all over the place, but at least this one was more himself.

"Why on earth would I let you go hang out, especially in your condition, with the man who helped get you locked up in the first place? That's just asking for disaster. I don't know what you've been through, but I do know you teaming up with Mozzie won't help the situation," Peter stated firmly though he wanted to simply explode and demand more information.

Neal groaned, back to his moody teenager state. "Why!? I've got this stupid tracker thing chaffing my ankle, isn't that enough!?," He demanded.

"It would be if you were actually wearing it!" Peter began to raise his voice.

To this Neal could only shut his mouth and look the other way, mumbling, "How long have you known?"

"Since I picked you up from the department."

"You didn't say anything?"

"You were unconscious."

Thankfully, right at that moment, Elizabeth walked in, carefully balancing three mugs full of fresh coffee. She smiled at Neal as she placed a light blue mug before him, he only smiled and politely refused, "No thanks, I'm not thirsty."

Her face grew distressed and she turned to Peter for help, silently begging for guidance. His eyes told her to let it go. "Oh okay, I'll leave it there though, incase you change your mind," she said taking the seat next to Peter. The room fell eerily silent as the couple began to sip at their coffee.

Finally, Neal broke the silence as he played his trump card-sexy good looks. His warmest, brightest smile took the stage and began to say in a sing-song voice, "Hey, El, you don't mind if I head over to a friend's for a little while today, right?"

Peter gave his wife a death stare, but even that wasn't enough to beat the ex-con's cheeky grin and Elizabeth caved, "Alright," she said, "but why don't you change into some of Peter's old clothes before you go and I can wash what you have on now. It's starting to look a little worn-out."

Neal continued his facade, not wavering in the slightest. "Thanks, but Peter can just drop me off at June's. I can get new clothes, 'cause your right this outfit's a little overdone at this point, and my friend can pick me up there too."

"Oh, alright," she said nervously.

The emotionally unstable Neal stood up and began to make his way out the door, calling over his shoulder to his partner, "Come on. The sooner, the better." The FBI agent shot his wife a what-the-hell-are-you-doing look as he stood to follow the other man. Her face answered nervously with a what-did-you-want-me-to-do-he's-got-issues-enough-already-let-him-do-as-he-sees-fit look.

Nonetheless, the two made their way outside and into the car waiting idly on the side of the street. About halfway to the destination Peter finally spoke up. "So where is it?" he asked.

"It's...complicated." Neal mumbled, now in a very depressed state.

"I've got as much time as you're willing to give me."

"There was a woman. She told me some stuff, and, I don't know, how to get rid of the tracker. I didn't know what to think so I guess I just tried it to see if it would work and it did, so..." Peter both smiled and frowned. For one, Neal was finally letting on and most importantly, he was speaking in full coherent sentences. On the other hand, the actual content of these sentences wasn't particularly uplifting. Okay, so it was terrible. So terrible, Peter almost wished Neal had shrugged him off and mumbled only useless bits and pieces like before.

"What if it hadn't worked?"

"I don't know! I didn't think that far!" Neal retorted.

"Oh wow," Peter mocked, "The great Neal Caffrey, world's greatest white-collar criminal, doesn't know."

"Would you shut up!" exploded Neal. Peter glared back at him.

"Don't," he said. "You're lucky Elizabeth's so easy. In my opinion you'd be better off back in prison. Nothing like jail to toughen you back up."

Neal went silent and stared, pissed, out the window.

"Oh now what? Did I strike a nerve? Is this about Kate? C'mon man, face it, she dumped you."

"Stop the car."

"What?

"Stop the fucking car!"

Peter slammed the brakes, the car behind them nearly took them out and blew the horn madly. The furious younger man simply opened the door and got out. His partner watched, unmoving, as Neal walked away. The last he heard before the man disappeared was "It has _nothing_ to do with Kate."

X.x.X.x :'( x.X.x.X

"Dude, you sound like your dying."

"That's because I am. Now help me figure this out. What am I suppose to do?"

"Well, based on the information you've given me, we can conclude...nothing. You've told me absolutely nothing."

Neal paced around the small storage unit Mozzie called home. The place was small and crowded, nothing like his room back at June's. "C'mon," Neal said sounding thoroughly exhausted, "Actually think and help me solve this."

Mozzie watched his partner in crime while sitting on his rickety, old bed. "Look, all I know is you mysteriously disappeared for a few days, then called me saying you were staying with your little FBI buddy, and, most importantly, that you didn't care about Kate. What's that tell me? Well, I'd say it means you and your new partner are a little more than just co-workers."

Neal stopped to glare at the shorter man. "Seriously, ew. That's not even close to what happened."

A silence slowly began to fill the room. Quickly, Mozzie stopped it saying, "Wow, the FBI must really hate you. You come in on the verge of death, physically and mentally beat and all they do is stick you in a small room with 24/7 surveillance."

"I guess helping convicts that are suppose to be in jail isn't really in the job description, or the budget," Neal silently chuckled to himself.

"Anyway," He continued, "What do you think I should do?"

"Well," His friend noted, "your going to have start by telling me more, because that's all I've got."

Neal sighed. "Okay, just tell me where 'The three becomes one.'"

The room went silent as Mozzie thought. "There's a lot of places that could be."

"Think outside of New York."

"Okay, that narrows it down," Mozzie said sarcastically.

Neal glared at him and added, "It has to be fairly obvious since I don't have much time left to think."

"Right, what you'd say happened again?" questioned Mozzie.

The ex-con rolled his eyes, "I didn't. Just trust me, I've got a fever of 101 and it'll start to rise soon."

"Yeah, I get it, trust the man arrested for art forgery. That makes sense," Mozzie mocked.

"I knew coming here was a stupid idea," Neal stated and turned to leave. His anger clearly audible in every step he took.

Moz stood to stop him. "Okay, geez, I'm sorry." Neal didn't even flinch. At this point he was practically gone. In a last desperate attempt Mozzie yelled, "Pittsburgh!" At this Neal finally stopped and turned.

"The point. Monongahela, Ohio, and Allegheny rivers. Three become one."

Neal's face twisted to form the first genuine smile in nearly a week. "How fast can you get two plane tickets?"

Mozzie's smiled back, "Give me five minutes."

X.x.X.x.x.X.x.X

Peter silently freaked out. He was standing in front of his house dreading the moment when he'd have to enter and face his wife. Elizabeth was going to have his head for letting Neal just walk away like that.

_Okay, just take a deep breathe. You can do this._

Peter stepped into his house. "Elizabeth?" He called and his wife suddenly appeared from another room.

"Yes?" She called back.

"Well, you see," Peter stumbled over his words. His wife gave him a sharp look forcing him to just spit it all out.

"Neal walked away."

Yep, he was write. Elizabeth was going to kill him. "What do you mean?!" She yelled.

"Well," Peter tried to explain, "we had a slight argument and Neal just got out of the car and left."

His normally calm, beautiful wife suddenly transformed into a demon and forced him back out of the house saying he wasn't allowed back until he made sure Neal was okay.

Suddenly, Peter was outside his house again, not at all looking forward to what would happen next. He wasn't really sure where he was even suppose to start looking! Luckily at that moment his phone began to rang. Without even checking the caller I.D. he answered, "Peter Burke."

"Uh yeah, hi, Peter," sounded a voice from the other end.

"Neal?"

"Yeah."

"Neal, what are you doing?! Where are you?!" Peter fumed.

"Look, I'm Junes, oka-" Neal began before he was cut off.

"Stay right there!" His partner demanded, "I'm coming to get you."

"No." The ex-con stated with a certain sharpness that stopped Peter in his dash to his car. "I'm leaving, Peter. I swear, though, I'm not running. I just... have to clear some stuff up, okay? I wasn't sure, but you've left me no choice."

Before Peter could even begin to comprehend what Neal was saying, the line went dead, the sharp beeping of an ended call ringing in his ears. As annoying as the sound was, Peter was too stunned to even care.

_Damnit, Neal. What are you getting yourself into now?_


	4. Hello

a/n: What is this? Christmas in February? I know, I know, this story should be dead, and it is! However, I decided to grace all my wonderful readers and reviews with one final chapter. Though be warned it's very short, and tells absolutely nothing about what is happening. Yes, I'm evil XD. Seriously, though, this story is forever dead and if anyone wants it, please, take it.

* * *

"Excuse me, sir, but are you okay?" A middle-aged security attendant asked with a look at the Caffrey who was plastered with a light sheen of sweat. The room was normal temperature at most, but the con appeared over-heated and down-right off.

"What? Yeah I'm fine," Neal replied dazedly. Mossy internally began to register the situation as bad. First of all, Neal was getting sicker, and unexpectedly fast too. Secondly, if it was discovered that Neal was severely sick, despite being non-contagious, he may be barred from the flight. Thirdly, the instant Peter set out a notice for the former convict, he would be arrested.

From then on the pair made their way through security with a brisk pace, hat tipped forward to hide any unusually facial expressions.

Somehow they made it without a hitch and with perfect timing for the next flight. Sinking into the cheap airport seats, Moz glanced towards the flight board to realize his first mistake of the day. Pittsburgh: Delay.

X.x.X.X.x.X

Peter hated himself right now. He knew Neal was doing what he believed to be right, but the man (it's hard not to consider him a child) was still a first-rate criminal. Reluctantly, Peter dialed the number.

"FBI Agent Jones."

"Hey, Jones. It's Peter."

"What's up, Peter? How's Caffrey? I've been hearing rumors. As much as he manages to bug me throughout the course of a single stake-out, I still hope he's doing well."

"Sorry, Jones, I don't know."

"What do you m- Oh. Should I file a report?"

"Yes."

X.x.X.x.x.X.x.X

_Tap, tap, tap_. Mozzie impatiently waited for a status update on the Pittsburgh flight. What was the deal with that airport, anyhow? The weather isn't _that bad_. Yet, it was guaranteed at least a ten minute delay.

Neal was leaning back in the next seat over. His hat was tipped forward, but his eyes were still visibly closed. Moz was unsure whether his partner was asleep or not while he thought _Just fifteen more minutes. Fifteen minutes and the delay will hopefully be over and we'll be gone before anyone knows._

Unfortunately, fifteen minutes had not yet passed when an airport security guard approached the pair. The figure was far from any measure of authority. His hair was brown and messy, his frame thin and appearingly uncoordinated, the uniform barely met standards. He looked at Mozzie with apathy and stated "You and your friend need to come with me."

Remaining calm Moz replied "Why?"

"I'm not in a position to say."

"Can you tell me who ordered this?"

Praying, the convict received a short reply: FBI. Definitely not the answer he was looking for.

Reluctantly, the duo rose to their feet. Apparently, Neal hadn't been fully asleep, and telepathically they decided to go with it and figure something out later.

Together the group moved at a steady walk towards a small security booth stuck in the corner. There weren't any particularly interesting features about the place. Most passer-bys failed to notice it entirely.

Their impassive escort held open the metal door as they passed through, allowing it to slam close quickly after Neal. The room was small and plain. The only way to describe it would be as a deep white. There was a lack of windows despite the rooms location on the outer wall, and the lights were bright enough to give Neal an intense headache and he momentarily squinted his eyes. A well-dressed figure leaned against the opposite wall.

"Hello Caffrey. Mozzie."

_Shit_

"Hello Peter."


End file.
